


An Unexpected Visitor

by Firecadet



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firecadet/pseuds/Firecadet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyhold is set abuzz with the arrival of a living legend: Warden-Commander Eragon Cousland of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, after an encounter with Red Templars. Inquisitor Lavallan must keep her wits about her as the old feud between Morrigan and Leliana over the affections of the Warden boils over into confrontation within minutes of the Warden's arrival. Later, a secret from the Inquisitor's past will be revealed.</p><p>I apologise for the name of the Warden. I was going through a phase when I first played Origins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A confrontation at the gates of Skyhold

Warden-Commander Cousland woke suddenly, as he heard the tell-tale crack of a something approaching the small tent he had pitched in a narrow gully, just south of the Frostbacks, followed by a pause of utter silence.

He didn't bother crying out, or challenging the prowler.

He simply picked up his sword, a length of sharpened metal with an ornate guard crafted for him by the blacksmith Wade, before stilling the fire burning the length of the blade with a thought. Then he waited, his sword in the approved position for the crouching thrust, for his intruder, assuming that it was not the occasionally sighted from a distance Frostback Sasquatch, to pull back the flaps.

About a minute later, light steps approached, before pulling open the flaps, revealing what initially looked like a Templar. Then his warden-sense began tingling, as he saw the red crystals in several places, and the drawn sword.

He didn't hesitate.

His blade flashed silver in the moonlight as it drove forwards, crunching through the mediocre quality armour plate worn by the Templar, only forged from cheap iron, turning crimson as it severed the femoral artery with a slight shudder, before sliding through the man altogether, penetrating the backplate from the inside with as little effort as the breastplate.

The Warden kicked the first Templar from his blade as he surged out of the canvas structure, trusting the enhanced senses of the gift to allow him to see in the dark. Another armoured figure was beginning to react as the Warden rolled forwards, the sword in his hand slashing sideways, the volcanic aurum blade cutting through the chain armour guarding the man's throat cleanly, along with the carotid artery, the windpipe and the jugular vein in one cut, driven by the strength of arm that had disabled an Archdemon with a carefully placed stroke.

A third armoured man moved in, with a massive square shield. The first cut from the unarmoured warden was deflected, as was a probing thrust over the shield, aimed at the throat.

Unfortunately, the next weapon wasn't so easily evaded.

Without even pausing, Cousland grabbed the kettle from over his fire, the embers of which were still warm, before flinging the heavy cast-iron projectile upwards. The pot tumbled in mid-air, cascading boiling water over the man, and through the gaps in his armour. His sudden agony left the Warden with a slight opening, which was punished mercilessly with a front lunge, sending the tip of his sword punching into and through the plate and chainmail, then the underlying muscle and ribs, before slicing his victim's heart in half, dropping him to the ground with the sudden loss of blood pressure.

Glowering, he stooped, collecting his shield, along with his crested helmet, before two more of the strange Templars charged out of the bushes at him.

The first of the two, by half a pace, folded himself over a stop-thrust, burying the blade to the ornate guard in his own chest thanks to his momentum. The second launched a savage cut at the warden, who batted it away with his shield, feeling the strength of the blow up the whole length of his arm. The man seemed startled, before chopping at the Warden again, who, this time met his attacker's sword with a circular parry, twisting the blade out of its owner's hands, sending it flying into the bush, before the Warden's sword came around in a simple cut at head height, sending the corpse of the Templar toppling to the ground in a fountain of arterial blood, as its head rolled sideways.

Then Warden-Commander Eragon Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, went in search of his horse, carrying his sword, and whistling the Warden March.

It was time for answers.

And he had an idea of where they were likely to be found.

-000-000-000-

As Lancelot cruised up the mountain track, Warden-Commander Cousland began to daydream slightly. The pennon snapping in the wind above his head on the lance that he'd cut a day out from his attacked campsite was his own design; the arms of Amaranthine split vertically with the arms of the Commander of the Grey: two griffons addorsed, wings elevated, maintaining a branch fesswise on azure, and charged with a crowned griffon on Azure.

He was looking forward to arriving. By all accounts, the female elf who was leading an organisation comprising primarily of aggressively religious humans was very capable. He also held strong opinions on the subject of the darkspawn supposedly leading the corrupted Templars he'd fought, and on the urgent need to insert a sword into it.

He'd run into two patrols of Red Templars, as they were apparently called, subsequently. Neither had occupied him for long. Mounted and armoured, he was a match for more than a dozen of them. He hadn't met more than ten.

The banner flying from the castle seemed odd, with a Dalish Border and crest surrounding the heraldry he vaguely remembered from his history classes, with a vertical sword overlaying an eye and a star on sable.

He touched his heels to Lancelot's flanks, encouraging the charger up the sloping path, towards the castle.

-000-000-000-

"My Lady!" Tahiri Lavellan heard from an excited page, a boy of about fourteen, whose ears, although not pointed, were still pronounced, and turned red whenever he was in her presumably exalted presence, along with a slight rise on behalf of his hormones. "The sentries have sighted a rider in the valley."

She nodded, wondering idly if taking the young Shem to bed would solve anything for both of them. Why he was telling her about a lone horseman, though, was a mystery.

"What banner?" She asked.

In reply, she was handed a sheet of paper, a few inches across. It showed two half coats of human arms, along with a very special charge. Only a few men were allowed the crowned gryphon, and only one on this side of the waking sea was still alive.

"Tell Sister Nightingale, Lord Cullen, and Lady Montylliet to meet me at the gates, with the guard turned out. And summon Lady Morrigan and her son. They will want to be there."

"Is it really..."

"Unless someone  _very_ stupid is counterfeiting his banner, it is." She said, idly running her eyes over the boy, considering rewarding him. He looked nice enough, even if he was young. She wasn't going to need much assistance, once the chains were on. "With the Lady Morrigan around, anyone foolish enough to attempt such a fraud will be cooked in whatever armour they are wearing."

-000-000-000-

An hour after the note arrived, the inquisition was assembled at the gates of Skyhold. Banner men stood proudly, and the troops drawn up glittered with polished metal, the final few soldiers jogging briskly from the barracks into the lines.

Inquisitor Tahiri Lavellan, leader of the inquisition, stood on the rampart she used for making speeches from, decked out in her full regalia, the official inquisitorial sword in its dragon-hide sheath at her side.

Cullen was wearing his full ceremonial armour, resplendent with gold trim, and was standing with his helmet doffed and carried under one arm. Josephine was wearing her best normal clothing, and had spent time ensuring the gold cloth was supplemented with a scale vest made from mother-of-pearl, and an ornamental helmet of the same, set into gilt panels.

Leliana had replaced her robes with more ornate items, wearing what appeared to be blue velvet shoes, elegantly tasselled. From somewhere, a nug had appeared, and was riding on her shoulder in a harness, snuffling curiously, as she scratched its head.

Morrigan, confusingly, was dressed the same as ever, wearing _the robes_  that had entranced so many of the young pages, and even a handful of the maids, not to mention inspired surprisingly tolerated imitations, among the females. Her son, Kieran, was looking slightly hard-done by, his hair flattened with a comb, and standing as if ill-at-ease.

The lone rider trotted through the gate, before saluting the elf with his lance, then dismounting, an awed looking page taking the head of the warhorse, presenting a carrot as a bribe, and leading the spectacular beast off to the stables, and Horsemaster Dennet.

Morrigan strode up to the commander, before throwing her arms around him, ignoring the night-black plate armour he was wearing.

The approach of Leliana, complete with snuffling nug, was a complete surprise to her. Then the spymaster was hurled backwards into the walls of the castle by a ball of invisible force.

"He is mine!" Morrigan spat at the Orlesian, as she rolled to her feet, having twisted in mid-air to cushion the nug from striking the wall, which she released from its harness, sending him scuttling towards Josephine and a carrot, presumably a safe place, as she drew a stiletto from inside her robes.

"He was never yours. He slept with you for convenience, you hag."

"I am no hag, Bard." Morrigan spat, throwing a fireball as the commander gathered his son, shielding him from the fight with his own armoured body, and then hustling him out of sight. "He saw what you can really provide, I guess, after a few years as your lover. Then he decided he wanted someone who could give him more than a pleasant rutting partner."

Leliana dodged the fireball by a foot, although the backwash from it hitting the wall sent some embers into her hair, while behind them, the ceremonial troops followed their training and stampeded to a safe distance, where they could start taking bets.

"I love him, you bitch. I'm not only interested in extracting fluids from him and then discarding him. I want his children."

"I have had his child already, Sister. You merely desire that joy. Tell me, though, what does he see in you? A toy, perhaps, or a plaything that would never complain? Or was it simply that you offered yourself to him, mayhaps?"

"He loves me!" Leliana screamed, before throwing her dagger at Morrigan, although the witch deflected the cast blade with ease. "You..."

"Leliana, enough." The warden snapped, stepping around the corner, Kieran walking beside him, somewhat nervously, but with his head held high nonetheless. "You are right when you say I love you. I still do. But compared to my feelings for Morrigan, after all this time, it is less than a stove beside a furnace. And I am so sorry about that." He said his voice low and consoling.

"I looked for you. I tried everything in my power to find you. And now you return... and this? My worst nightmares did not come close." She sobbed.

"Then mayhaps you should have been more a wooer, and less the wooed." Morrigan spat. "To look at the great sister Nightingale, bereft through her own mithering misfortune. And for that, I am to blame, for being more the mother and wife than she ever was. Tell me, did you ever stop chewing that bitter root in secret, for all your twaddle about wanting a family? You'd have been a mother thrice, but for your self-important virtue?"

"Leliana?" The warden asked, carefully standing in the line of fire, with Kieran between him and Morrigan. "You kept yourself that way?"

"You would have had to protect me, as I bore my love." She almost sobbed. "I was never going to be able to find the time to carry, if we fought our foes together."

"It would never have been a burden." He replied, almost sadly. "You wanted nothing _more than the horizontal pleasures_!" He spat. "You can go and screw your damned bow, for all I care. You have been lying for years. Morrigan rarely tells the whole tale, but at least she never lies to my face." The witch sniffed, but didn't interrupt. "Do I matter that little, that you pretended you wanted my children, to bind yourself to me with chains of hope?"

"Eragon..."

"Stay away from me, _Bard_. Stay away from my wife, and my son." He growled, borrowing Morrigan's curse, before Kieran darted away from him, swarming into his mother's arms for safety. "Loghain died, traitor that he was, to end the blight. He died in my place, to permanently slay the Archdemon. He should be man referred to as the Hero of Ferelden, not me. His death saved my son from carrying that thing."

The last time he'd been as angry as he was in that moment, he'd cut down Arl Howe, and then continued hacking long after he was dead. For a second, his hand wavered on his sword hilt, fighting the urge to commit murder. He only kept the blade sheathed for Kieran. He was not going to become a murderer in front of his ten year old son, for the sake of Leliana. Not yet.

As the bard retreated, her posture showing anger and more than a little fear, he turned, consciously purging the battle-rage from his system, and reached into his pocket, before smiling as he handed his son a small trinket; a hawk's skull elegantly woven with coloured twine through the eye-sockets, and a pair of downy feathers wrapped in the twine, one feather from each socket. He knew what the boy had just seen, so he limited himself to a gentle touch on the arm as he kissed his wife.

The church might have had words to say on him calling her wife, as they'd never exactly stood before a reverend mother and been married in the eyes of the Maker, but, frankly, he didn't give a damn about the Maker. If He had sent the Blights as a punishment, he did not deserve to be worshipped. He'd pledged himself to Morrigan using a ritual she'd unearthed in an old tome. They were married.

End of debate, unless they wanted the book. The binding had turned as hard as iron, and it was about a foot thick. It would do the trick.

Then he became aware of another approaching, and turned, reluctantly stepping away from his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a while ago, while bored and on holiday. I've made some edits to it, as well as the heavy modification that the original version underwent to make it readable.
> 
> Explanation of Heraldry Terms  
> Addorsed: placed back to back  
> Wings Elevated: Self-explanatory  
> Maintaining: Small objects that are held by an animate charge (Such as a Griffon)  
> Fesswise: Horizontally  
> Azure: Blue


	2. Chapter 2

Now she was closer, the Warden turned towards the elf woman, sizing her up carefully. The armour she wore was ornate, and clearly ceremonial, although it appeared to be made from actual materials that could stand up to a charging, very angry Darkspawn, unlike some examples he'd seen, forged from copper or bronze, or even made out of gold or silver entirely. A fairly boyish mane of platinum hair stood over a face that had little remarkable about it. The vallaslin tattoos were present, as he expected them to be for any adult Dalish elf. Her eyes, however, were a surprise. For some reason, they almost seemed to glow green as the elf regarded him coolly, her step visibly that of a warrior, although he had no idea who'd designed the sword she was carrying, which he doubted was a practical weapon.

-000-000-

 _I can see why that little scrap took place._  Tahiri thought as she approached the man, who was standing with one arm around his wife, carefully giving a little space to his son.  _If he wasn't so ardently defended by Asha'Bellanar's daughter, I'd take a shot at him as well._ Grinning at the thought, she waited, wiping her grin off of her face when she saw him begin to turn.

He was taller than her, although not unusually so for a shem'len. The heavy, ebon black armour he wore, close to, testified that she was looking at a man who'd fought a lot of skirmishes and battles in his time, showing scratches and dents in most of the main plates, with slices taken out of the paldrons in dozens of places, and further scarring on most of the surfaces with an opportunity to catch a blow. One of the most unusual scars was a massive gouge that had torn away a hemisphere out of a shoulder guard, while the winged helmet only possessed one of the structures.

"I ran into a High Dragon as I was crossing through Shadow Pass in the Frostbacks." He explained. "Tried to eat my horse and me."

"Wh... You won? Alone?"

"It was a tactical draw, really. It got a few pieces of armour plate, in exchange for a twelve foot gouge in a flight membrane. Should take it six weeks or so to heal that and get airborne again."

"You survived going one on one with a high Dragon?"

"I survived an Archdemon, and a dragon controlled by a witch during the blight." He told her, without a hint of boasting in his voice. "Tackling a normal high Dragon that expected to win the fight with one jet of flame was not challenging compared to tackling The Archdemon. That had the intelligence of a God guiding it in the fight. I took three wardens, including myself, into that fight, with a two ton golem backing us up. The golem only survived the battle because of the fact it hit a tower, rather than being knocked to the left of it, and Alistair only lived because we got him to a mage within ten minutes. I hamstrung it, and then Loghain... He made the ultimate sacrifice. He said that Ferelden needed me more than him, and that I was a hero. Then he beheaded the Archdemon."

The inquisitor looked surprised.

"Loghain Mac Tyr was not an evil man. Some of the decisions that he made were poor, and some were very poor. He saw Orlais as more of a threat than the blight, and he redeemed all of those errors at the end, with his life and soul." He told the elf, his voice serious. "In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice."

-000-000-

To his great lack of surprise, as he recounted his encounter with the Dragon in the Frostbacks, he felt his wife's glare on the back of his neck, and distinctly felt as if the short hairs on the nape of his neck were about to ignite for the rest of his conversation with the inquisitor.

Finally, he turned around, briefly.

"Darling," he said. "I don't need to have my hair set on fire again."

His son giggled, remembering the blistering row over the contents of a tax chest Morrigan had borrowed from a mail coach, along with a shipment of jewellery. Eragon had insisted that the taxes and jewellery were returned, without being minus any items. Morrigan, meanwhile, had wanted to keep about a dozen items from the jewellery selection, along with a fifth of the contents of the tax chest, and a row had ensued, resulting in the accidental ignition of the Warden's hair. Neither of them actually blamed the other. The witch, however, got to keep the jewellery, and a tenth of the tax money.

Morrigan visibly blushed, before transferring her gaze onto a group of adolescent females from noble families decked out in an imitation of her garments, seemingly competing to be the least modest. It didn't take long for a particularly minimalist interpretation to suffer the failure of a shoulder-strap, sending the bevy scuttling for cover.

"We'll talk later, my love." She said, sweetly. The Warden just winced.

Then he transferred his gaze back to the inquisitor, noticing that she seemed to be slightly displaying her attributes for him. Morrigan also noticed, and coughed. The breasts seemed to retract slightly, and the hips stopped being slightly thrust out.

The elf looked slightly embarrassed, before gesturing her command team of forward.

"Cullen Rutherford?" He asked, not disguising the incredulity in his voice.

"My day just gets better." The Templar said. "Commander of the Grey Eragon Cousland." He continued. "You are going to have to bring that up, aren't you?"

"I hope you are feeling better." The warden said, politely. "How long did it take Surana to find you?"

"Not nearly long enough." Cullen muttered. "It took her about fifteen minutes, once the tower had been cleared. She'd barricaded herself in a study room, with enough of a slot to dissuade demons with one of her staves. The one that walked through the wall was a regular abomination, and forgot that magi staves are up to seven feet of bog oak. I ended up being 'Counselled' in there for two days. I don't remember much of it, only that she'd lost most of her robes along the way."

"That's the first time I've heard it called that." Eragon replied, with a chuckle.

"Well, she couldn't exactly tell Irving and Greagoir what we were doing, not that they didn't know all about it. We weren't the only ones..." He said. "When the circles rebelled, she... didn't make it out of the tower. I had been posted to Kirkwall by then, so it was only when a few of the Fereldan mages arrived that I learnt her fate."

"I'm sorry." The warden said, gently.

"She was just... good." He said, sadly. "She downed dozens of Templars to keep them out of the young apprentice quarters before they were all out of the window. Every child survived because of her sacrifice. She... died... a hero."

"What exactly is your role here?" Eragon asked the Templar, curiously.

"Commander of the inquisition forces. In other words, I give orders to everyone who isn't one of the elite team, and make sure that there is food and water available for the troops." Cullen explained. "I train them with arms, and inquisitor Lavellan leads them in battle from the front with a few of her specialists for back up." His voice caught slightly as he said the inquisitor's name.  _Ah. He wants a closer professional relationship than colleagues._  Cousland realised.  _She's another elf, and she doesn't look too dissimilar to Surana. I wonder if he has the balls to ask her to love him._

Then a woman he'd noticed on the balcony as part of the command group of the inquisition stepped forward, wearing a cloth-of-gold ruffled shirt, with what appeared to be...

"Are you wearing mother-of-pearl for armour?" He demanded, trying to hold in a chuckle.

"Well, it is very fashionable in Antiva." The woman replied, with the same lilting accent he remembered from Zevran. The rest of her clothes were equally ornate and clearly not intended to be worn anywhere with thorn bushes or darkspawn nearby. Her face was somewhere between milky coffee and builder's tea in colour, with dark brown hair and chestnut eyes. There was something in her stance that confused him, but he quickly realised that she had been given a very small amount of weapon training when she was younger. "Leliana said you were handsome, but I admit, she did not ever do your appearance justice."

"I see." He said, injecting a warning tone into his voice. "And you are the local diplomat?"

"I serve the inquisition as chief diplomat, yes. Among my other roles, mostly centred around supplying goods and supplies, of which this fortress needs a great many." She quickly realised her mistake, and moved swiftly away from the subject. "The number of carts this fortress needs each day, and the supplies that requires in turn... we need close to thirty carts of fodder a day, and several of those go feeding the animals pulling the fodder carts."

"Logistics is something so many commanders forget. War isn't about just simply marching an army into position, and beating up another army. I read in one book that it takes six men to support a knight of the realm in the field, and two to put a man at arms in the field and keep them there for any period."

"Tell me about it. When we marched on a small fortification held by the Red Templars, we had five hundred soldiers, and seventeen hundred camp followers, plus another three hundred or so following them. At least we weren't feeding the whores and their train."

"Ahem." He heard behind the chattering antivian.

"Ah. Warden Commander Cousland, this is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. She has a few more names than that..."

"Get on with it, Josephine." The imposing woman said.

"She is one of the founding members of the inquisition, and served Divine Justinia as the Right Hand of the Divine."

Another figure stepped forwards, coming most of the way up to the diplomat's chest.

"Varric Tethras at your service." He said, politely. "I'm the guy in charge of making sure the seeker doesn't throw people in prison for fun, and beat them up when she doesn't like the answers." Cassandra made a noise of disgust. "I also take a few notes."

"Tethras... Morrigan seem...ed to like one of your books." The warden said, noting the slight shift of muscles that promised a certain degree of marital discord if he continued the current train of thought."

"I still need to get hold of my publisher in Orlais." The dwarf muttered. "I signed more copies at the winter palace than the previous year. 'Don't sell in Orlais' my arse." Still muttering, the dwarf stepped aside.

"This is Solas. He's an elven mage, and our expert on the rift phenomena."

"A pleasure, Solas." The warden said, receiving a silent nod in return.

The next figure to appear dwarfed both human and mage.

"This is the..." Josephine began, before a hand about the size of a shovel dropped out of the sky and covered her mouth, nose, and face.

"I'm Iron Bull, leader of the Bull's Chargers mercenary company." He said, as Josephine wormed, trying to extract her face from behind the Bull's hand. He had his thumb and index finger behind her ears, making escape almost impossible. The Warden could hear what sounded like attempts to breathe from behind the hand.

"You are bigger than the Arishok. I am impressed."

"You know him?"

"We fought together when he was a Sten." The warden said. "He was damned good backup when you were going into a darkspawn nest."

"Hey, get out of the way!" He heard from behind the imposing Qunari. "I want to meet the wardeny heroey person."

Reluctantly, Bull stepped out of the way, releasing his grip on Josephine, to allow a blonde elf, slightly taller than most, to step through. Her build was more reminiscent of a human than an elf, despite the pointed ears. "I'm Sera." She said, giving an impression of hyperactivity and slight difference in her way of thinking. "So, you are the warden, right? Only, I heard he was almost untouchable in a fight, and you look like you've been touched quite a bit."

"Dodging a twenty ton high dragon is a bit of an ask at Eragon said. "They aren't exactly slow and ungainly, and those claws can do damage." He told her. "It ended up carrying off my shield."

"Anyway." Josephine broke in, quickly, ushering Sera away quickly. "This is Enchanter Vivienne."

 _"She's a right... Orlesian"_  he heard Morrigan mutter, clearly avoiding the use of more pungent language in front of Kieran.

"I am so pleased to make the acquaintance of such a valiant figure." The mage stated. "I am sure that the recent excitement at Adamant Fortress was not something that you had any part of."

"My lady, I was the far side of the Anderfels until a few weeks ago. The happenings in this part of the world were entirely outside of my knowledge."

 _"Did you feel that fake calling?"_  Morrigan hissed.

He turned, before smiling at his wife. "I felt something, and my dreams were worse for a few months, starting just after that massive explosion."

"You felt that the far side of the Anderfels?" Morrigan and Josephine asked, almost together.

"It dropped chimney pots halfway to Kossith, by all accounts. A tsunami came ashore, I heard, in Lake Calanhad." He clarified. "I heard it as it sprayed my horse with the contents of a hedgerow."

"I see. And you didn't bother to contact me at all when that happened."

"I'll make it up to you." He told her with a boyish grin.

Vivienne had moved away during the minor grade martial dispute.

Josephine gestured to the final member of the elite crew. "This is Dorian Pavus."

"I'm a tevinter mage, but not a magistar." The unwholesomely good looking man said, while Josephine glanced around, before gesturing to a soldier.

"Has anyone seen Warden Blackwall?" She asked.

"Blackwall?" Cousland asked, putting on his Warden-Commander of Ferelden hat.

"Did you know him?" She asked. "He killed his share of darkspawn during the blight, from what he says."

"Morrigan, do you remember that... mystery near Calanhad a year or two ago? That man claiming to be a Warden, and training the locals, who disappeared before Nathaniel arrived?"

"Lots of hair, marcher accent and a beard?" She asked.

"That's the fellow." Cousland said. "Does that sound like your warden?"

"Well... Yes. Leliana checked him out, of course, but she seems to have a blind spot with Wardens."

"That would explain that, then." He said, growling slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it would appear that Blackwall has done a vanishing act. :This chapter is more or less filler, although it does set in play the first strand of plot I've thought up. I apologise for not characterizing all of the companions, but I normally use Bull, Blackwall or Cassandra, Varric or Sera, and Solas, although I keep everyone at full gear where I can, in case I need to put a specific character in the field. I can't stand Vivienne, for some reason.


	3. Chapter 3

As the main group surrounding the Warden began to drift apart, Leliana watched them from her balcony at the top of the keep. Schmooples II was pressed against her side, crooning slightly. She gently began to stroke the nug, remembering a half hundred nights of passion, with smooth skin sliding across taut muscles and old scars, lips meeting in desire, and pleasant oblivion.

Then she looked down again, as the Warden gently kissed that blighted witch, holding her close and tenderly, as he had used to hold her, before hoisting Kieran onto his shoulders, and trekking across the open area, up the steps, and into the throne room.

She'd hoped for him to throw an arm around her, apologise for being away so long without her support, or giving word of his location. Instead, he'd ignored her in favour of the witch, dressed in her usual elegant nothing, as if she was in bed with the world. And then... he'd rejected her, pushed her away for not carrying his child. She'd wanted to be able to always answer his call... and in doing so, she'd ensured he'd never call again.

 _If I take away the one thing that witch has given him that I did not... he'll see her for what he truly is. And then, he'll cast her off for someone sophisticated, clever and bold, not that hussy from the swamps. What does she let him do, I wonder.._.

Then she sat back, beginning to mix a dozen ingredients together in her black pestle, wearing an alchemist’s mask as she set to the grinding.

-000-000-

Morrigan's chambers were some of the better positioned, on a lower level of the central keep, with an elegant balcony overlooking the mountains. The inside of the chambers were hung with richly coloured tapestries, showing scenes from the natural world in the splendour of close observation. Kieran pulled his father into his chamber, with an enclosed, smaller balcony, an arbour allowing plants to entwine the space, with a single trellis closing it off to adventurous and highly dangerous climbing expeditions. On his wall, Morrigan had hung a glorious tapestry of an elder high dragon, curled on a hoard of precious metals and gems, some formed into armour and weapons. There was a rack of weapons below it, wooden blades and axes wrapped with several layers of oil-soaked cloth, and a shield with the heraldry of a warden, a gryphon standing erect, wings outstretched, over a bar, with five tabs pointing downwards.

"They got the shield right." He said, grinning.

"I told then I was the son of a warden, and they painted it like that." Kieran said.

"What else has your mother given you?" He asked.

The boy immediately looked evasive.

"I'm not going to take it away." He said, reassuringly.

The boy ducked his hand into his belt, reaching inside his breaches, before pulling out a nine inch dirk. He then grinned.

"Chateau Oliviard?" He asked.

The boy nodded, enthusiastically grinning.

His father smiled back, before heading along the rack of play weapons, and quickly picking out an item. The blade sang as it was lifted from concealment.

"I see she wants to make sure you can defend yourself." Warden Cousland said, grinning. "Go and find your friends, and after the feast tonight, I'll show you a few tricks with a sword and board.

The boy scampered out, scooping up a wooden sword, his shield, and unhanging a conical helmet with a chain mail neck-guard from a hook on the door, pulling it over his head, and then heading out of the door, leaving his parents alone.

Smiling, the Warden headed into his wife's bedchamber, after returning the short-sword to its home. Inside the room, Morrigan was waiting for him.

"As that was Kieran making a swift exit, I suppose we are alone here." She said, languidly. "Now, whatever shall we do to absorb ourselves until the meal tonight?"

"I'm sure we can think of something." He replied, with a smile that still made Morrigan go slightly weak at the knees with the intent and intensity it promised, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close, their lips meeting more aggressively, as he pulled her towards the bed.

-000-000-

The top of her fortress was where inquisitor Lavellan went to think. The helpfully provided buttresses and untrimmed ivy made it child's play for a dalish elf to transfer herself off of the balcony and onto the thick strands of the ivy, before hauling herself onto the roof, the one place in the entire fortress where she was alone.

No-one had ever questioned the idea that Blackwall was the warden he claimed to be; Leliana had couched for his membership of that order. He was one of the best individual fighters in the inquisition, able to press even The Iron Bull with a blade. She knew that Cassandra traded wins and losses with him almost entirely evenly. The times she'd faced him on the practice field had been intense, although her dalish training had given her a repertoire of strokes and gambits he'd rarely, if ever, encountered, which was the only thing that gave her any edge.

Why would they have doubted him?

It was even more interesting that Cousland had encountered him before, from a distance, and sent one of the Fereldan wardens after him to investigate. The man had disappeared then, as now.

From inside her room, she heard a clatter of footfalls.

"My Lady Lavellan?" She heard Josephine call.

"I'm outside, Josephine!" She replied.

"Out... where... oh, maker, how did you get up there?" The antivian asked, somewhat weakly, as the inquisitor ducked her head over the edge of the tiled roof.

"I climbed. It's a thing we Dalish do."

"Would you... er... be able to come down from there?" Josephine asked, tentatively, holding out a sheet of parchment. "I think we know where Blackwall is headed."

"We do?

"We visited the barn he spends his time in, and found this. It's an execution bill, for a Cyril Mornay, accused of involvement in the massacre of a nobleman and his entire family." He's being hung in Val Royeux."

"If that is where Blackwall, or whatever his real name will be, we need to be there as well."

"I agree fully, Your Worshipfulness."

"Josephine, I thought we had an arrangement that the titles were only to be used in company."

"We are in company, my lady." She said, gesturing to the crow circling low overhead.

"That isn't the Lady Morrigan." The inquisitor commented. "I suspect that her current position is somewhat lower than this, and that she is currently rather busy."

"How... I see, Tahiri."

"Josie, how are you feeling?"

"About Blackwall?"

"Yes."

"I'm... upset. It's difficult being in love with someone who can never be a partner of anything other than the soul. And for him to suddenly vanish, and turn out to be not who he claimed to be..."

"We have a saying." Tahiri said, swinging down from the roof on the gutter, landing with extreme grace on the balcony. "Emma lath Fen'Haral."

"What does it mean?" Josephine asked.

"Literally, it means 'my love is the trickster.'" Tahiri explained. "We use it to describe those who deceive their lover or partner."

"It is certainly an accurate phrase." Josephine said. "Also, Cook Remsay sent up a flask of tea and two cups."

"Tea is the one reason I would consider cropping my ears and passing for human." The inquisitor said, heading for her desk. "I trust he sent milk as well?"

"Of course." Josephine said, as she took the other armchair, preparing for their usual period of girl-talk.

-000-000-

"Her Ladyship, Morrigan Cousland, Comtesse de Korcari!" The formal Herald stated, as Morrigan appeared at the entrance to the feasting hall. "Her husband, Warden-Commander the Lord Eragon Cousland, Arl of Amaranthine, and their son, Kieran Cousland."

All three Couslands were dressed for the occasion. Morrigan had ditched her day robes, and replaced them with her gown, before draping herself with the elegant collection of jewellery she'd acquired. Eragon had hauled out his formal doublet, in the grey and blue of the wardens, along with his working sword, the elegant blade's hilt being sufficiently decorative for formal occasions. Kieran had been persuaded into a smaller version of his father's assemblage, and was being allowed to wear his shortsword in public, the small hilt wrapped simply with black leather, and a pair of garnets set into the pommel.

Kieran was quickly steered off by a page, who moved him to the children's table, laid with less breakable settings, and with the jugs of wine replaced by simpler vessels filled with grape, pear and apple juices.

Morrigan and Eragon were steered to the top table, as guests of honour. Around the hall, various groupings were seated at discrete tables, partially to allow the separation of groupings that only the most optimistic planner would seat together, such as the small embassy from the tevinter imperium, who were seated as far as possible from the delegate from the Avvar tribes, and from The Iron Bull.

Surprisingly, the Templar commanders were seated at the same table as the magi of the inquisition, which would have raised a considerable number of eyebrows, although it appeared that it wasn't just the barrier between the two groups being more than distant friends that had broken down, from the intermingling of the two groups. If Eragon was any judge, the Grand Enchanter was all but sitting in the lap of her opposite number. Cullen, for his part, looked a tad shell-shocked at the extremely close presence of a prime example of what was increasingly becoming his 'type': attractive, elven mages, in such close proximity. He wasn't the only Templar fraternising with a mage, the warden noted.

At another table, there was a delegation of a very different type: dalish elves, dressed in their traditional garments, which seemed to blend very well into the trees on the tapestry behind them. A number of humans, several city elves, and even a lone dwarf, had joined their table.

Then the first course arrived: strips of beef, pork, lamb and dried fish, soaked with honey, and marinated in a mixture of carefully chosen spices, accompanied by jugs of sweet wine from highever and Orlais, although he would have words with the cellarman about that, as the vintage was not the labelled vintage, and seemed to have been mixed with an inferior white. Morrigan quietly poured her first glass onto the floor, after a small sip. The dishes were accompanied by sweetened rice, made by mixing honey and lentils with the rice, before baking it into small, domed cakes.

The second course was just as pleasant. The chefs had taken a whole deer, before roasting it slowly over a tray of water containing saffron, thyme, and ale. Accompanying the venison was a supply of crisp vegetables, cooked enough to heat them, and painted with the same mixture of herbs as the meat had been cooked in the presence of. This time, the wine was a full-bodied red, with hints of cinnamon and cloves.

"How are you enjoying yourself?" Eragon asked Morrigan, noticing the way she was dining, the quick, sharp movements she had always accompanied tableware with a counterpoint to his own, more trained motions.

"The food is fine, if a mort fancy. As for the company, tis good the bard is not here to influence my digestion. T'would be a shame to feel her daggered glaze upon my neck throughout the meal." She harpooned a potato, quickly slicing it three times with her table-knife, an elegant dwarf-forged blade six inches long, with a raven's head at the top of the grip, chased with elegant silver.

"Leliana..."

"Is a fool, and a jealous one." Morrigan hissed. "You saw her today exposed."

"I saw a woman who might feel betrayed. I made no secret of you, and sought her bed when it was offered, once you had pushed me away." He said. "I never claimed I loved her."

"You made no such claim?" Morrigan asked.

"I had feelings for her, but they are not the same as mine for you." He said. "She was a lover. Not a wife. Not the mother of my son."

"See that you remember that." Morrigan threatened, although the slight lift in her tone betrayed the threat as byplay.

The third course arrived, elegant silver salmon more than a metre long, carried from the grill on long wooden platters, stuffed with butter and garlic, along with a layer of breadcrumbs. It was served with a smooth white, which offset the fish perfectly, as did the rows of carrot and parsnip.

-000-000-

There was always a way to almost anywhere, Leliana remembered Majorline, now dead at her hand for a decade, telling her. If you are not picky about the how, the bard can reach anywhere, and anyone.

In this case, she was in the rafters and support beams, dressed in her black leathers, looking down on the great hall, scrambling from beam to joist, until she was over her objective for the night: the children's table, directly above Kieran and his cup.

Carefully, she unfurled her tiny reel of material, lowering a thread, fitted with a ten gram lead weight, down through the smoke and fumes of the feast, before the weight trailed its tiny tail into the boy's drink. Carefully, she touched the tiny vial of toxin to the string, allowing a pair of drops to run down it, counting to ten, and rolling the string back up, clearing the area as quickly as possible without waiting to see the results of her actions.

-000-000-

Morrigan heard a chair topple backwards at the far end of the hall.

Then both she and the Warden heard a scream.

Almost without pausing, Morrigan transformed herself into her preferred raven, launching from the arm of her chair before her husband had risen to his feet. A swift, graceful glide carried her over the heads of the assembled diners, before she saw the sight she had dreaded most.

Kieran was on his back, hands clutching, panickedly, at his throat. His heels were drumming on the stone floor, and his face was blue.

It was enough to leave her reeling in horror for a brief moment, before she knew what she'd have to do.

"I love you." She told her son, before bending over him, and quickly getting to work.

 _Airway..._  she thought, remembering the time Flemeth had let her eat the root of a poisonous herb. Almost without thinking, she created a small tube within her son's throat, pushing back against the muscles in his throat that were crushing the boy's windpipe. The relief was almost immediate.

His face cleared, and he took a shuddering breath.

"Lie still." She told him, pushing him down, before hating herself for the next, inevitable step, as she created a series of magical bands, pinning her son's hands and arms to his side, then kissing his forehead, probing his body for the signature of the poison, praying it was one of the dozen she still carried the antidote for after her time in the court of Orlais.  _Philodendra?_  She thought.  _That is a... Bardic... poison._

Quickly, she uncorked the small vial of antidote, and poured it down her son's throat, before sitting there, stroking his hair, as her husband arrived.  _I am going to kill the Bard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Leliana did just attempt to murder Kieran.


	4. Chapter 4

From her concealed spyhole, Leliana watched for an agonising minute or more as Kieran joked with the children either side of him, and across from him, forcing herself to remain determined.  _He is the son_ _I_ _deserved to bear, not that uncivilized, unsophisticated witch from the swamp._

Then, she watched as he picked up his glass of pear juice, before downing the contents in one long drink.

Then, a few moments later, she heard him gag.  _It has begun_. She gloated, seeing him glance around, terror burning in his eyes.

Then, a few moments later, he stopped being able to breathe, and his chair flattered backwards as he fell from it, gasping for a breath she knew would never come.

The girl next to him screamed as he toppled from his chair.

A few moments later, she saw a raven flash the length of the hall, dropping beside the boy, before turning into his mother.  _She'll get a ringside seat then. I doubt she'll care anymore than her mother did about her._

And then she saw the terror and horror on the woman's face, and realised her mistake.  _She loves the boy? Then... she... oh Maker._

Without stopping to watch the witch's frantic attempts to revive her son and save his life, she fled towards the one place she felt she could go.

Skidding through the door that would allow her to bypass the great hall, she almost sent one of her own agents sprawling, before sprinting up the steps towards Skyhold's Chantry, and through the double doors, before dropping to her knees in front of the Bride of the Maker

 _Oh, Andraste..._  she silently prayed.  _What demon possessed me to act so viciously towards a child?_

She received no answer. The shadows on the face of Andraste didn't change.

_Oh Maker... What have I done?_

-0#0-0#0-

Eragon Cousland dropped to his wife's side, noticing the huge amount of tenderness she was displaying, which caused him to smile slightly at the reminder of just how much she loved her son.

Then she turned away from the boy, before raising her hands into a very familiar position.

"Morri..." He began, before she started throwing fireballs into the rafters, using the same kill-pattern she'd perfected against darkspawn during the blight. "Whoa... Why are you setting fire to the roof?"

"That fucking bard!" She screeched, sounding more like her raven-form than her normal self. "I'm going to kill the bitch!" Her hands continued the sequence of fireballs almost unconsciously as she swore. "That... frowsy, air-headed, vision seeing, Orlesian cow." Morrigan raged. "Didst her blighted maker send her a vision that bade her to poison my son... did she think ‘twould somehow alter her actions when you were willing to sleep with her?"

"Darling." Eragon said. "You've set fire to the roof of the main stronghold of the inquisition, not Leliana." Then he kissed her, pulling her close, and twisting the amulet she'd given him out from under his doublet. "Stop."

Reluctantly, she extinguished her hands, before throwing them around his neck.

"I thought Kieran lost, for a few moments. He's the only good thing I've ever had, aside from you. ‘Twas terrifying."

"I love you." He reminded her.

"Tis good that you remind me of that." She said, breaking her hold, before placing her too-still son in her husband's arms. "I do not fear for him this moment, although I canst return to my seat, leaving him in the care of the physik in this place."

Eragon dotted a kiss on his barely conscious son's forehead, before following his wife, noticing that the rooms she'd selected were at the end of the corridor, with their own chimneys that went directly outside the walls. Kieran's room was past her own door, down a narrow side corridor at right angles to the main suite. Carefully, he carried his son through to the door, before slipping back his bedcovers, which showed the touch of his mother, featuring a griffon insignia on a background of pale blue, surrounded by a scroll effect in midnight blue lace.

With a tender hand few would have expected from a warrior with enough strength to drive his sword through both sides of a Red Templar with a single thrust, the warden tucked his son in, bringing the covers up to his chin, before kissing his forehead a second time.

Then he stepped out, gently closing the door behind him, leaving the boy to sleep.

Morrigan was waiting.

Alone, with the man she loved, and utterly trusted, she showed the emotion that she could never have shown anyone else.

She threw herself into his arms, and began to cry, heart-wrenching sobs tearing their way out of her chest, allowing the fear of a mother utterly terrified for her son, bottled up inside her as she had fought for her son's life. She'd nearly offered a prayer to the Maker, a deity she had never believed in in the slightest, in case it would make the slightest difference to her son's chances.

"I... near...ly... lost... your... son..." she gasped out between sobs.

"Morrigan, it wasn't your fault." He whispered, holding her tightly as she continued to brokenly sob. "It was the fault of whoever put the poison into whatever affected him."

"Not... who...ever..." she said. "Lel...i...ana..."

"We don't know that. How many people would want him harmed?"

"Her." Morrigan hissed.

-000-000-

 _Maker what have I done... Maker what have I done... Maker, what have I done?_ Leliana silently prayed, kneeling before the statue of Andraste in the Skyhold Chantry.  _Maker, I always believed in your gentle hand, and that you were guiding me through the darkness. How did I fall so far from the path you intended for me? I poisoned a child, because I am angry at his parents. Why didn't you send me a reason not to?_

 _"_ Sister Leliana?" She heard, from behind her.

"Mother Gisele?" She replied, flustered.

"What ails you? You missed the feast." Gisele said. "Lady Morrigan's son was poisoned." She told her friend, in a conspiratorial tone. The perceptive priestess didn't miss the flinch as she mentioned the poisoning. "Sister Nightingale... What have you done?"

"May we talk in the confessional?"

"Oh... Leliana..." she said, her voice catching, sending a storm of shame through the former bard.

The redhead fled into the booth, pulling shut the door behind her, sobbing.

-0#0-0#0-

Tahiri Lavellan collapsed onto her bed, head cradled in her arms.

"Mythal..." she swore. "What just happened?"

As usual, there was no answer.

The feast had come to a very rapid end with the poisoning, the mages gathering up their bevy of apprentices, and all of the other parents collecting up their off-spring, in the fear that it was more than a targeted attack. The remaining diners had not been able to remain in the hall, after the fires started by Morrigan in the roof space, although a small group of mages had managed to extinguish the fire by throwing large orbs of liquid water into the roof space, which had left the remaining food and diners saturated.

"My Lady?"

It was Josephine.

"Ugh." She groaned.

"I have seen feasts go worse, my lady. Not much worse, that is true, but I have seen them go even worse."

"How?" The son of one of the most important figures in Thedas has been poisoned in my hall, and his mother has set the ceiling on fire."

"Well, if the assassin had remained in the roof space, which would have been an exceptionally unwise decision, given the nature of Lady Cousland, and her temper, she would almost certainly have slain them."

"Did they?"

We haven't found a body yet, although the Grand Enchanter has managed to bring the blaze under control. Either way, we will need to fit a new roof to the hall, or at least replace entirely this sections that have been damaged in any way beyond soot by the fire."

"Mythal..."

"Did you poison the boy?" Josephine asked, suddenly. "Or order him poisoned?"

"No. What... Why would I?"

"Why would anyone?" Josephine asked.

-0#0-0#0-

"I was just... angry..." Leliana said. "At that apostate hag, at him, for casting me off, at..."

"Did you hate the child?"

"He... He was the reason he preferred her... she gave him a son, a child. All I gave him was a series of empty promises."

"Why did you try and murder the child?" Giselle asked.

"I thought... I..."

Anything further she might have said was interrupted when the doors at the rear of the Chantry suddenly entered the room at something approaching the local speed of sound.

-0#0-0#0-

"Morrigan?" Eragon Cousland called, as he gently stroked his son's forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Don't do anything unwise." He said. "We are guests here."

"Trouble yourself not about me." She said, before exiting the room.

The guardsmen posted outside of her suite took a brief look at the mage, before melting out of her path.

It took her about fifteen heartbeats to conclude where the bard was going to be.

She'd located the temple to The Maker early on in her stay, primarily to be able to avoid it when roaming and pondering. Nothing made both harder than a priest following you around, talking about her religion.

That Bard, on the other hand, was aggressively religious, although, fortunately for her good health, not excessively so. She remembered setting fire to the robes of at least one Andrastian priest for demanding that she convert, while as the Winter Palace.

The Bard’s religion wasn't going to be as beneficial for her health tonight.

She wasn't surprised to find the bar across the entrance to the room. It was the only way of keeping someone from entering.

Despite her long-held lack of belief in a so-called Maker, she still half expected some reaction as she drew in a concentrated blast of kinetic energy, before throwing the entire force at the door to the chantry.

-0#0-0#0-

"Stay here." Giselle hissed at Leliana, gesturing for her to duck down in the congressional.

Then she stepped out into the path of a monumentally angry witch.

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded. "This is a house of the Maker."

"Stand aside, you fool." Morrigan screamed. "I know you are sheltering the Bard."

"This is a house of the Maker," Giselle repeated. "We give sanctuary to those who are in danger."

"Tell me." Morrigan growled. "Does that include those who try to poison a child?"

"Are you going to hurt her?" Gisselle asked, standing her ground.

"Yes."

"Then it does include those who poison children."

"Then get out of my way." Morrigan yelled, picking up the priest in an invisible grip, her arms pinned to her sides. She threw the woman into a tapestry, before conjuring a fireball, and hurling it into the confessional.

"Taste some of the reward of your religion!" She screamed, pouring power into the fire, along with forcing the surrounding air into the blaze.

"You are so similar." Giselle said, sadly. "You are so angry, that she has dragged you down to her level. Is killing her worth becoming her?"

If she'd said anything else, Morrigan would have thrown back a cutting line. Instead, she stopped, before throwing a sphere of water into the burning booth.

Leliana had been lying on the floor of the booth. Unfortunately, that had been where the fireball had been aimed. The layer of wicker had fragmented the orb of flame, which almost certainly had saved the former bard's life. A direct hit from a Morrigan grade fireball would have killed a giant.

Reluctantly, Morrigan sat back in a pew, trying to avoid touching the wood with bare skin. Mother Giselle, with a stern look at the woman, reminding her bizarrely of Wynne, picked up a candle-snuffer, before beginning to sort through the ashes.

To her surprise, even knowing the devout Orlesian, Leliana was quietly praying aloud, reciting the Maker's prayer.

"Our Maker, who sits on his golden throne, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Thedas as in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and glory, forever and ever."

"Sister Leliana!" The woman snapped. "Stand up."

Leliana obeyed, looking at Morrigan with the one emotion the witch had not expected: utter, sincere, horrified remorse.

"You did not complete your confession, and I will not break the seal of the confessional, regardless of temptation in this case. Sister Leliana: your penance is to make a full, earnest apology to Lady Morrigan Cousland. Furthermore, you will swear on your immortal soul never to bring to harm, or permit another to do so, Lady or Lord Cousland, their son, and any future descendants. Do you accept these terms, to redeem your soul in the eyes of the Maker and his Bride?"

"I accept my penance."

"Very well."

"Morrigan... I don't know what I can say. I have nothing but remorse for what I have done to your son and family. It was against both the Maker's law and our own. I'm sorry."

"Tis well that you are sorry, for ‘twere that to prove a lie, I would send you to your Maker in the manner of his alleged bride.”

"Please!" She almost begged the witch.

"Very well. I accept your contrition, as long as you watch over my family and our descendants."

Then the witch turned on her heel, and stormed out of the Chantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the way Leliana and Morrigan reacted to the situation. One of the things that most scares Morrigan is turning into her mother, which is the only reason she pulled back from an impromptu re-enactment of the death of Andraste, starring Leliana. Leliana, having watched what her poison did to Kieran, and the frantic actions of his mother, realised what she had done was evil.


	5. Chapter 5

It took about fifteen minutes for Morrigan to return to her suite of chambers, and her son's room.

As she stepped through the door, the set of her shoulders indicating her level of dudgeon had not noticeably reduced, Eragon smelt smoke on her robes. Lots of it.

"Love..." He began.

"Is Kieran recovering?" Morrigan asked, her tone almost manic.

"He's going to be fine." He reassured her, gently. "Why do your robes smell of smoke?"

"I... found the Bard." She confessed.

"Morrigan..." He said, nervously. "What did you do?"

"I gave her a reminder as to why she should consider my family inviolate to her pollution."

"Was it a lesson she will remember?"

"Fear not, my husband, the Bard still draws breath."

"How barely?" He asked, knowing exactly what his wife was capable of. "And for how long?"

"Husband, I have not done anything that may _prevent_  her drawing breath, provided that she shows the base wisdom to remember her commitments."

"Why do your robes smell of smoke?" He asked, sceptically.

"We had a disagreement in the chantry. She was hiding in a small booth, surrounded by curtains and wicker framing. I attempted to send her to her Maker in the manner of his bride. He must surely have tired of the woman by now. The Bard would have made a fine replacement."

"You set fire to the confessional?"

"Tis that the things name? I saw little use for it, other than firewood." She said. "Why, was it valuable?"

"If you'd been raised devoutly as an Andrastan, you'd have spent many a long hour kneeling before a priest, telling them about your sexual fantasies." He said with a grin. Morrigan grimaced.

"Are your priests voyeurs, then, that they desire such knowledge?" Morrigan asked.

"Fornication is a sin before the Maker." He quoted. "Our confessor was not much older than you, with blond hair, blue eyes, and significant endowments. It took her about fifteen minutes to realise that she was on the table. After I described exactly what I wanted to do with her, she seemed to almost completely stop trying to get me to confession."

"Tis surprising. T’would have made greater sense for her to accept such a generous offer."

"It involved the family dungeon."

"Still. She would not have gone away dispirited, I am sure."

"She lacked what I love about you." He said, grinning. "Taking advantage of her uncertainty about her own body was a sport, more than anything else."

"I trust, husband, that you have no such belief in me suffering from uncertainties about my body?"

"I don't."

"My mother did her best to foster such feelings. Anything that would have made me easier to control." The witch grimaced. "Sometimes, her tests were designed to be two things: challenging, or lethal."

"Give me an example?"

-0#0-0#0-

"Are you sure you are comfortable?" Morrigan heard, as the somewhat desirable looking Chasind boy knelt over the top of her, secured at all four corners of her body to stakes driven into the ground by short ropes, leaving her unable to move.

"I am perfectly comfortable, now all of the intervening garments are clear of my skin." She replied, allowing a certain amount of asperity to creep into her tone. "Is the view to your satisfaction?"

She received a blush and a grin in reply.

"Come now, Chasind. I'm sure that you are quite keen to taste your reward for catching the eye of a witch of the wilds."

The Chasind knelt, gently stroking her, before suddenly stiffening in agony.

"Mother?!" Morrigan asked.

"Tell me, child, what the purpose of this boy was? Answer truthfully, and he will live."

"I wanted him, mother." She replied, struggling to try and dislodge the stakes she was tied spread-eagle to. "I merely desired his abilities for a few hours."

"And the ropes and stakes? You are not practicing for what will happen to you if you are found by the Templars, by any chance?"

"I wanted to surrender control, mother, just the once."

"That is a sign of weakness, daughter. Maybe I should slay the boy for bearing witness." Flemeth growled. "Or maybe a more fitting punishment is in order."

Morrigan felt  _very_ nervous as Flemeth seemed to ponder.

"I think that the best punishment is for you to get what you wanted." Flemeth said. Critically, the old witch inspected the ropes and stakes securing her daughter. "You wouldn't have stayed like this more than twice." She said critically, before raising her hand, looking at the bushes around the small hollow. Then she muttered an incantation.

Nothing seemed to happen.

Then, a few moments later, the ground began to move beneath her.

Within a minute, all four of her limbs were bound in place, gripped firmly by the heavy roots of the large oak overhanging the secluded hollow. The young witch tried to free herself, but her wrists and ankles might as well have been set in granite. When all of the roots were in place, they moved outwards, ensuring that they were drawn as tightly as possible apart.

Then there was a final humiliation. A root rose on one side of her head, crossing over her mouth, into which it extended a wide, bulbous taproot, almost completely filling her mouth with the protrusion.

She was given about a minute to realise her full situation.

Then her mother made a sequence of hand movements she knew to be capable of launching an orgy in a chantry full of reverend mothers. The boy, however, was the only person she was looking at.

"I'll be back in a day or so, daughter, once this one has run out of vigour. We will see if you have learnt your lesson."

Morrigan stared back at her, before her chosen toy blocked off her view of anyone else.

 _Maker. Help me!_  She prayed, silently, some instinct driving her to offer the plea to a Deity she had never believed in.

-0#0-0#0-

"She subjected her own daughter to..."

"She did. He was young and had very good stamina. He was... still going... the next day. Twas not entirely unpleasant, although my memories of that day are very hazy."

"What did she do?"

"She handed him a purse of gold for lasting so long, and sent him back to his village. Then she told me the incarnation to free myself, and left me there..."

"With the root still immobilising your jaw."

"She knew I wouldn't be able to give up. It taught me how to cast a manipulation spell non-verbally."

"And if you had failed?"

"I dare posit that my moss-covered bones would be laying in that hollow today, still held in place by those roots. She would not have returned to save my life."

Gently, he kissed her, lifting up her jaw, and just holding her close enough to feel his heart beating.

"I would never do anything like that to you."

"The roots, or leaving my life in danger?"

"The leaving you to die." He replied, with a lupine grin on his face.

"Twas... hmm... restful, in the end. In Orlais, I did experiment, just a little. I found a male who was willing to bed Empress Celene's magical advisor in that way. Took a fair while."

"Am I going to need to duel him?" Eragon almost growled, watching the coy smile she produced.

"Tis not a necessity. He knew nothing, and it was largely a ploy to suggest my promiscuity, hence explaining Kieran. Twas not an affair of the heart."

The Warden just looked at her.

"You are trying to convince me that your travels never featured the bed of a tavern whore?" She asked, keeping her tone light and teasing. "Tis not only right that you relax once in a while, I would expect no less. You were always the better warrior after a busy night."

Reluctantly, he gave up pretending.

"Our vows did not feature any exclusivity clause." He said with a smile, leaning over to kiss her. "There were a couple. Just for one night, anyway."

"I am glad that you remember that point. Husbands are renowned for losing their memory of the finer points of their vows." She replied, looping her arms around his neck and shoulders, and pulling him close.

"Does that include the clause to make love to their wife at every chance?" He said, his voice more masculine than usual.

"I think that clause to be extremely important." She said, grinning, as he scooped her off of her feet and carried her to their bedchamber.

-0#0-0#0-

Being a fully manned and operational fortress, the breakfast service at Skyhold started before the sun rose.

Warden-commander Cousland, ensconced in the main layers of his armour, scooped a mouthful of scrambled egg onto his fork, accompanying the slice of sausage he'd already impaled. Next to him, Inquisitor Lavellan ate her own travelling breakfast.

Kieran was still asleep, as far as he and Morrigan were aware. Leliana had accepted responsibility for the fire in the chantry, blaming the melted candle for the blaze, and claiming that she'd fallen asleep while praying. The fact that she was still alive was credited to Morrigan and Giselle.

"Warden?" He heard the Inquisitor ask, around the remnants of a mouthful of potato. "What are your plans for when we arrive in Val Royeaux?"

He chewed the remains of a mouthful of sausage and egg, before making his reply. "If your "Blackwall" shows up, I'm going to have words with him. As for Mornay, we'll see. I can always use more Wardens, if they survive the joining."

"If they survive?"

"The joining is what makes a Warden. I was the only survivor of my joining. We drink a potion, and then either live or die. Usually, there is a coma for a few hours."

"Usually?"

"One of the first Wardens I inducted, Oghren, drank the potion, burped, then commented on the taste. He was a dwarven drunk." He smiled. "Also, the main selection of the Fereldan wardens for diplomatic missions we don't want."

"So... becoming a warden is dangerous?" She asked, trying to confirm the information. "We have a man in the dungeons who we've remanded to the order."

"If you can keep him there until we return to Skyhold, we'll put all three through the joining."

Then the pair got to work on their breakfasts.

-0#0-0#0-

About an hour later, the rescue party departed from Skyhold. The Inquisitor was joined by Vivienne, for her connections in the Orlesian capital, with Cassandra for reinforcements and the Seekers. Rather than bring another of her team, she'd simply substituted one rider for the Warden.

Morrigan was waiting by the gates.

"Were you planning on sneaking out with the dawn?" She asked her husband.

"Not at all." He replied, chuckling. "We needed to make an early start to reach Val Royeaux in time."

"Tis good you remember the priorities of your life." Morrigan commented. "T’would be a shame to return to an empty nest."

"Keep an eye on Kieran for me." He said. "And don't make a soufflé of Leliana while I'm gone."

"If she gives me no reason to do anything, she will not come to any harm. Else, 'twould be telling."

"See you in a few days." He said, smiling.

"I'll be waiting." She replied, clambering up onto a stirrup to be kissed.

After a few moments, they separated, and the party trotted their horses out of the gate, the be-pennoned lance of the Warden leading the way.

-0#0-0#0-

Three hours from Skyhold, as the small party dismounted to lead their horses across a narrow bridge, a force of red Templars came sprinting out of the gorge on both sides of the bridge. Cassandra and the Inquisitor locked shields, meeting the rush of warriors with braced feet, and support from Vivienne.

As the Templar charge arrived, both women took a step back, robbing the charging men of their impact, leaving their weapons to strike air rather than armour or braced shields. Then the two attacked, stepping apart as a volley of flame tore into the attacking swordsman, before lunging forwards.

The Inquisitor met her first opponent with a quick slash to the side of his neck, her sword glancing off of the mail neck guard, before parrying his return cut at her with the flat of her blade. The rest of her fight was a savage clash, moving more by instinct than conscious thought, felling three Templars, while Cassandra held open her flank, the Seeker cutting down four of the men, while four more fell to blazes of fire and the slashes of a spirit blade against Vivienne.

Then they realised that the Warden had been at the other end of the bridge.

Moving like a rogue, rather than a knight in a full suit of plate armour, the warden had seven of his attackers at his feet, two of them moving. As she watched, he brought his blade around with fell intent, the volcanic aurum blade cleaving through the sword arm of one of his remaining attackers, before a backhand slash sent the blade tip across the man's throat, jetting blood into the visor of the last remaining Templar. Then the Warden brought his blade across, cleanly bisecting the man's neck, sending both men to the floor within a few heartbeats of one another, one with a slashed throat, the other decapitated.

The sight of the Warden suddenly wiping his blade, using a rag pulled from a small case on his scabbard, was almost as alarming as the clear ease with which he'd single-handedly felled nine Templars. He wasn't even breathing heavily.

A short distance away, she saw another Templar. The corrupted warrior had a lance sticking out of his visor.

"I didn't throw it. He led the attack, and met my lance coming the other way." He told her, opening his visor after satisfying himself that there were no further threats.

"Impressive." She replied.

"I've had practice." He said. "Darkspawn tend towards pack hunting. As a warden, you are usually what they are aiming for in combat, so surviving large packs of them becomes second nature."

"Warden..." Cassandra breathed. "I'd heard the tales of Denerim and Amaranthine, but..."

"Those were ten years ago."

"I... never understood just what a warden could do, even from the accounts. Seeing the consequences of one true warden fighting in earnest... it brings home why a Blight is such a threat."

"If you don't remember the blight, you are lucky." He told the seeker. "It was the most terrifying time in my life, and the most violent. I've explored five thaigs in the deep roads believed lost forever to the darkspawn, at the head of a troop of wardens and the legion of the dead. That was almost relaxing compared to the fifth blight."

"It was that horrific?" She asked.

"Worse. If you've ever wondered why Leliana has nightmares, or why King Alistair has a reputation as a heavy drinker, the reason is the blight." He told her. "My sleep is never deep, but when I am travelling, I cannot sleep through the slightest noise."

"How does it affect Morrigan?"

"She doesn't have the same reactions, but she never lets the fire go out if she is camping with me and Kieran. The number of small animals surrounding our campsite always decreases overnight."

Then the group clambered onto their horses, now safely across the bridge, and continued riding for Val Royeaux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where the discussion on monogamy and adultery in the middle of this chapter came from, and I was actually quite surprised when I read it. I do not advocate any form of infidelity, and would like to apologise for the behaviour of the characters. I generally try to avoid editing stuff like this out, but it does surprise me sometimes what comes out of the mouths of some characters.


End file.
